Take Anything
by Asidian
Summary: Ed gives up something very important indeed to create a new body for his brother. Is it worth it, if the restoration doesn't go as planned? Elricest. Angst. Spoilers. Language. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: Run awaaay! I'm starting another multi-parter. ;;

Uhm, yeah. -shuffles- Not sure about this, but there were several ideas that'd been floating aimlessly about and I was like "Okay... that's it. Out on paper." Helped of course by Beanclam", who offered suggestions in a very round-about way and after much prompting. -wicked grin-

Warnings: SPOILERS! AU. Elricest. Angst. Language. More to come.

* * *

Take Anything- Chapter 1

* * *

"Anything," he said, and spread two perfect arms as though to welcome the wicked black fingers that groped toward him. "Take anything."

Arrays drawn in blood glowed brighter in response, a pure blue that was blinding in the empty space surrounding the Gate. The alchemical radiance set his skin alight, turned his face to something angelic- compelled the creatures to surge forward with eyes that were viciously intent, cruel and spiteful and hungry.

It wasn't until those terrible, grasping hands reached through his flesh and to something deep inside that Edward screamed.

* * *

The boy crept in as quietly as he was able, pulled the door shut behind him with a practiced tug of his foot. A moment later and he'd set the results of his shopping expedition on the rough counter along the wall, was moving to the stove and pushing wood into its belly.

He straightened bare seconds later, turned to cross the room again with brisk steps, and then the Fullmetal Alchemist began lifting food out of a thick burlap sack as though such a pleasantly normal scene was commonplace.

Spinach came first, a huge shock of bright green leaves, followed by a block of something wrapped tightly with white paper. Nimble fingers soon revealed it to be meat- a thick slab of it, unidentifiable- and then pressed on to search out the rest of the bag's contents.

He was just moving to light the stove, casting about for a match to begin the flames that would cook their dinner, when the voice drifted in from the other room.

"Brother?" Al asked, and despite himself, Ed felt a little leap of joy at the fact that the sound was strong enough to reach his ears. It must be a good day.

The boy abandoned his search for matches in favor of moving to stand beside the door to the apartment's single bedroom, very nearly reached to open it from force of habit. At the last moment, though, he reigned in the gesture, lingered just outside. "Yeah, Al?" he called, "What's the matter?"

"You were gone for a long time, brother," came the reply, tone just a little hoarse. "I was waiting up so we could play poker."

"In a bit, alright?" Ed promised lightly. "I was just about to-" Not cook dinner, the boy's mind interjected. Not cook dinner. "Uhm. Clean up out here."

There was a long pause from the other side of the door, and Ed cringed, picturing the I'm-not-stupid-brother look that Alphonse must be leveling in his direction. "It's just one room," the voice pointed out levelly, "And we don't own enough to clutter the floor."

"Yeah, well- I thought I should dust." It was perhaps the worst excuse Edward had ever made for anything, and he was ashamed of it by the time it left his lips. But of course it was too late to turn back now, and so he pressed on instead. "It's getting pretty bad. You can practically write your name on the bookshelf, its so thick. And-"

"Brother," Al said softly, and the worry and pain in his voice cut the smaller boy off mid-sentence. "Come in here."

Resigned, Ed let his eyes fall clothed. Took a deep, steady breath, and closed his single hand around the cool metal of the doorknob.

He stepped inside.

And for a moment, there was silence; he could feel Al's eyes on him, flinched away from the tears that stood at the corners.

"You _promised_," the younger boy managed to choke out at last. "You _promised_, brother."

"I've still got the leg," Ed mumbled; his eyes had found the scuffed wood of the floor, steadfastly refusing to meet his brother's gaze.

"That's not the _point_!" It came as a wail, a denial, and his little brother's voice cracked on the last word; the younger boy's frame, still as pale and thin as it had been the day of the restoration, shuddered as it forced down a fit of coughing. But Al pushed on regardless, heedless of the fact that he could scarcely finish the sentence for the reedy, breathless quality that the shout had lent his voice. "It was- was _yours_. Winry _made_ it for you, and you just- just- _sold_ it, like some kind of-"

And _that_ was too much. Because Ed could stand the thought that he'd upset Alphonse, could listen to accusations that he'd broken his promise- even that he'd outright lied, because when all was said and done, it was true, after all. But he wouldn't sit back and let his brother scream himself hoarse- not when it had needed to be done.

"And what," the smaller boy demanded abruptly, cutting off the accusation before it went any further. "Would you have me do instead?" His eyes flashed dangerously as he stalked the few feet to the bed where Al lay, leaned down so that he could meet those lovely bronze eyes that were caught someplace between enraged and devastated. "We need food, and you need medicine, and the city's a fucking _mess_- how _else_ was I supposed to get money?"

There was concern that joined the jumbled mix of emotions now, but Ed cut him off before a protest could surface. "If I have to cut off _flesh_ parts and sell them, I'll make sure you have whatever you need." Bitterness crept into the words, and he knew, knew that it would only make his brother more upset, but he couldn't keep it away. "I know… I know I fucked everything up again, and I'm _sorry_."

"Brother, _no_-"

"But I'll _fix_ it, Al." The guilt rose up to choke him, as it always did- how could he have gotten _this_ wrong, the only transmutation he'd ever needed to perfect- how could he have made something defective for his brother, who'd looked forward so long to having a normal, healthy body once more? "I swear I'll find another way. I might not be able to- to try again, but there has to be _some_thing, somewhere, and until I find it, you've just got to hang in there."

"Brother," Alphonse said softly, and reached out a hand toward him; Ed moved in closer without thinking, let those pale, gentle fingers trace along the line where metal met flesh, the place where a limb should have been. "You've given up too much already." The smile that tugged at the corner of those lips felt as though it was attempting to tear out his heart. "It's enough; you don't have to-"

"It's _not_ enough." Anger forgotten as abruptly as it had come, the smaller boy fell to his knees on the bed, leaned in to close his brother in a crushing embrace. "I won't let you _die_, Al- I won't. Not after everything we've been through. Not after-"

"Shh," the younger boy told him quietly, and it hurt for Ed to hear the wheeze in his breathing that came from having spoken only this little bit. "It's okay, brother."

Ed fell, uneasily, into silence, battling the sting in his eyes and the tightness in his throat. And when one of those hands reached to stroke his hair, the smaller boy hid his face in the warm cluster of blankets obscuring his brother's form.

It wasn't Alphonse's fault that with every shallow, rattling breath, so easily heard with his ear pressed up against the younger boy's chest, he hated himself a little more.

end chapter 1--


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: More has come to be. Be afraid, Very, very afraid.

* * *

Take Anything- Chapter 2

* * *

It reminded him of the air before a storm- that uneasy, deep shade of sunlight that filters down between banks of purple clouds and the way the air shifts and stops and shifts again, restless but not quite violent. Not yet.

That it was a lovely, crisp day, the only clouds thin and high above him, did little to dispel the comparison from his thoughts; if anything, it only served to make the idea more disturbing for the contrast it presented.

Because it wasn't the weather that put Ed in mind of a brewing storm, but rather the city itself.

People scurried about like birds that had sensed an unpleasant change on the wind, nervous and watchful, fluttering from building to building in an effort not to take too long a distance all at once. From the few open windows- at least one per block, in accordance with the new ordinance, and all the rest were shuttered up- radios stood facing the street, news reaching the air in a small, tinny voice, occasionally interrupted by static.

Ed tried not to listen too closely to the words that left them as he passed the little devices by, focused hard upon the sound his feet made instead, the steady not-quite-rhythmic noise that came from having one leg that weighed so much more than the other. Still, though, it was hard to ignore entirely, hard to force his mind from the reality that he knew to be unfolding beyond the still-safe city limits.

"…body count not yet in, but there seems to have been…"

Ed hunched himself further over, drew the nondescript coat in closer about his shoulders. It was a dark shade of grey, just shy of charcoal, picked because Al had read somewhere that when you wear grey, people tend to notice you less.

"…has taken control of the famous water city Aquaroya…"

And it seemed to be working, at least. No one paid him so much as a glance as he made his way through the streets, not even with the peculiarly limp way his right sleeve flapped with each step he took, pace steady and lips pressed tight into an expression that teetered between unhappy and determined.

"…handed their third consecutive defeat against the gathering…"

He was not, the boy thought grimly, recognizable as the Fullmetal Alchemist- no distinguishing outfit of red and black, no shining silver of a too-strong false limb. No weapon with the clap of his hands or the satisfaction of closing a circle that he'd drawn just perfectly.

"…sources in Central say that General Armstrong has been hospitalized in critical condition…"

Edward's expression twisted, lips quirking into a grin that was thick with the sting of regret.

"…seventeen hostages killed in the still-unresolved…"

The sign was one he'd seen countless times before, that neatly carved wooden plaque that hung at a right angle from the squat little building, large, elaborately decorative letters declaring that a medical professional took up shop within. At the sight of it, Ed sped his pace, anxious to be out of the streets with their relentless implication that a storm was building.

"…submitted a formal request to the new Fuhrer for more troops, but has not yet received a reply. Some military experts now suspect that the new government has overextended itself, and that it is only a matter of weeks before…"

The boy grasped for the doorknob as though it had the power to keep the reports at bay, wrenching it open with a ferocity that might have taken it from his hinges, had he possessed his automail arm to use.

* * *

"Because he's getting _worse_, you bastard!" Ed snarled, grasping the man hard by his collar and shoving him up against the wall.

Beneath the iron grip that the boy had on his shirt and the terrifying gleam in those golden eyes, the doctor flinched, raised his hands as though to ward away the rage. "Now, now… calm yourself, Mr. Edwards."

"Calm myself?" Lips pulled away to bear teeth, an expression very near to a snarl. "_Calm_ myself?" One final shove, all frustration and force, and the boy spun away to stalk back and forth across the room, pacing. "My brother is _dying_. Do you understand that? He's _dying_."

"Mr. Edwards, I told you from the very beginning that all I could do was give you medication to treat his symptoms." Unmoving from his spot against the wall, the man nevertheless smoothed out his shirt, erasing the wrinkles created by the rough treatment. "Even if I were able to pinpoint exactly what was wrong with your brother, I couldn't guarantee that a cure would be possible."

"I know you can't fix him, you asshole," Ed growled. "But he's in _pain_- whatever you've been selling me isn't working worth shit anymore."

"Have you stopped to consider," the doctor replied gently, "That suppressing the symptoms might not be the solution you need?" At last the man ventured from where he'd been pinned, approaching the boy to set a comforting hand on his shoulder; the surprise at realizing there was no longer an arm attached to it flickered briefly in his eyes before being pushed aside. "I suggest that you find someone familiar with this condition. Perhaps they'll know an appropriate treatment."

"Where the fuck," Ed snarled, and jerked away from the man's touch, "Am I supposed to find someone like that?"

There was a pause as the man considered. "You might try Aquaroya," he said at last. "Or possibly Central. Their medical professionals are quite adept, I've heard."

"You've _heard_, have you?" Those golden eyes were fierce, vicious. "Well maybe you've _heard_ about a little insurgency that makes other cities pretty well off fucking _limits_!"

The voice was quiet. "It was a suggestion."

"Well, it was a _shitty_ one!" The boy turned so that he wouldn't have to face the calm sympathy etched so clearly across those features, fisting his single hand into the fabric of his coat.

"Your brother is dying," the man said at last. "You said it yourself, and I've seen nothing to indicate otherwise." Carefully, he made his way to the counter, lifted a bottle of pills that he'd prepared beforehand for the visit. "There's always hope, of course- but perhaps you should just focus on making him as comfortable as possible." Several more steps brought him back to the boy's side, and he offered the medication. "And on letting him know that he's loved before he goes."

Ed fumbled for the pocket of his coat, threw a handful of bills at the man's feet and ignored the fact that the world had become suddenly quite blurry. "Fuck you," he hissed, and was startled when his voice was much thicker than usual. His sole hand snatched blindly at the bottle, the same medication that had become progressively less useful over the course of several months. "Fuck you, you worthless _bastard_."

The windows shook with the force of the door slamming behind him.

end chapter 2--


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: The problem begins to be unveiled, and plotness proceeds.

* * *

Take Anything- Chapter 3

* * *

He woke to the sound of movement in the other room, the quiet rustle of fabric and the dry, leafy sound of pages being turned. It took him a moment to realize what that must mean- that, despite the moonlight streaming in silver under the thick fall of the curtains, and the relative silence that had fallen onto the streets beyond their little apartment, his brother must be researching, still, too caught up in the results of the day's trip to the doctor to consider sleep.

It had happened before, Al knew, and likely it would again; he'd scolded Ed until his voice gave out the last time, insisted that exhaustion wouldn't help the problem.

His stubborn, idiot brother had, of course, ignored him.

And so he took a steadying breath, deep and slow, and ignored the way it caught someplace in his lungs. Steeled himself for the pain that was sure to follow and, with the air of a person attempting to lift the most fragile of ice sculptures, sat up.

The wave of dizziness that accompanied the motion passed in the space of several seconds, and Al squeezed his eyes shut against the sensation, breathing just a little sharp as he rode it out. A heartbeat more and he was scooting toward the edge of the bed, touching his feet to the uncarpeted surface of the floor and hissing sharply at the chill.

The short trip to the doorframe was a quiet one, the boy making certain that his steps were hushed as he crept to peer around the edge at his brother's form, sprawled on his stomach in the center of the floor, notes spread before him. A smile tugged at Al's lips despite the shortness of breath that had come from even such a small exertion, eyes softening with a fond sort of light as he watched the smaller boy swipe absently at the strand of gold dangling haphazardly into his eyes.

And then Ed reached forward to begin writing again, and the force of the shock felt like someone had doused him with icy water.

"Brother," he said, too alarmed to notice that it was reedy and breathless. "Brother, you…"

"Al!" And the boy's hand was everywhere at once, flipping books closed, turning sheets over so that only the blank sides faced up. But it was, of course, too late; because Alphonse had seen the arrays, so carefully drawn, as his brother had penciled in the final line.

The younger boy approached him with cautious steps, every movement as though he suspected the floor wasn't entirely stable beneath him. Edward didn't meet his eyes; golden bangs fell into his brother's face, obscuring whatever expression lay beneath from view, and there was no response as he closed the rest of the distance between them, no sound as he settled crossed-legged beside the notes spread across the floor.

He didn't say anything for a time, simply listened to the sound of his own breathing, shallow and unsteady, and to Ed's, a bit quicker than usual with… anxiety? Shame?

Quite suddenly, Alphonse was struck with an overwhelming sense of desperation by exactly how much the two of them had lost, and had to close his eyes against the force of it.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, when he could trust himself to speak.

And _that_ was enough to lift Ed's gaze from where it had been fixed on the floor between the sheets of paper, was enough to cause those expressive golden eyes to flash with hurt and anger and violent denial. But he didn't give his brother a chance to speak- knew that, if the smaller boy had the opportunity, he would rage about how Al didn't need to apologize because it wasn't his fault, insist that it never had been.

He'd heard it a dozen times before and still cringed every time the words left Ed's mouth- because no matter how often they came, the words still stung with the weight of the guilt that bubbled up in their wake.

And so he spoke, as much to stem the inevitable response as to receive an answer to his question: "Can I ask you a question, brother?"

It was so unexpected that it cut off the coming tirade entirely, left Ed to hesitate just a fraction of a second before a tense, uncertain little grin forced its way across his face. "Sure, Al- anything. You know that."

"What's it like?"

The change was immediate and complete; where before his brother had been all energy and emotion, coiled to forge his way through an explanation that remained passionate no matter how often he gave it, his eyes now grew wary and shuttered. There was pain beneath the guarded set to his features, sharp and impossible to hide, and Alphonse wished quite suddenly that he'd left the question unvoiced.

The younger boy was just opening his mouth to ward away the answer that he knew was coming, was on the verge of saying that he hadn't meant it- but then Edward was speaking, and Al found that he couldn't interrupt. Not when his brother's voice was so quiet and sad, sounding as though every word were carefully measured and entirely too close to breaking.

"It's a bit… like losing a tooth. Y'know- the same as when we were little." Those expressive golden eyes were distant now, thoughtful; it showed in the set of the boy's features as he groped for the words to describe it properly. "It sort of aches to think about it too hard. And…" He hesitated here, ducked his head so that hair obscured his face from view again. "And there's that _feeling_. Like whenever I put my tongue where it used to be, I'm surprised there's only a hole."

It felt as though someone had shoved the world sideways; for a moment, Alphonse could do nothing more than stare, eyes wide and pained, struggling for balance against the depth of the emotion behind that explanation.

And then his brother was forcing a grin, expression devastatingly, nakedly hurt.

"I'm getting used to it, though," Ed told him, and shook his head as though to dismiss the haunted look that had crept in around the edges. "I mean, it's not like-"

But Alphonse didn't let him finish. Didn't think he could stand to hear the rest.

All at once he was moving, surging forward to wrap his arms tight around the smaller boy's shoulders, was clutching at the threadbare fabric of Ed's pajamas and squeezing his eyes shut against the world. "I'm sorry, brother," he whispered again. "I'm _sorry_."

* * *

It was late when he woke- or early, perhaps- the air dark and chill with oncoming morning. The feel of Ed pressed warm against him, tangled up amidst limbs and covers, was comforting; his brother was a solid presence that he'd come to depend upon in the months since his restoration and, without fully waking, Alphonse nuzzled closer up against him.

For just that moment, there was no pain- or rather, what pain there was seemed muted and distant, nothing more than the chronic sort of hurt he'd come to expect. Everything had faded away to the steady rise and fall of breathing beside him, the familiar smell of his brother: machine oil and the cheap soap that they shared, and something else beneath it, comforting and mild.

He wasn't even aware of the fact that Ed was awake until gentle fingers ran carefully though short-cropped hair, tracing their way around to make a path up his jawbone and end with a soft touch against his cheek.

Alphonse opened his eyes, lips curving into a slow smile at the sight that greeted him: a warm golden gaze made dark with the shadow in the room, half-lidded and fond, and a return smile that held nothing but love.

"You should be getting your rest," Ed told him, voice still rough with sleep- but it wasn't a real complaint, not with the teasing tone that his brother's voice had taken on.

"Maybe," Al answered, and leaned down to press kisses over the other boy's face: forehead, then cheekbone, then nose, chin, lips. "And maybe I don't want to."

The light in those stunning eyes grew heavier then, more intense, took on a shade of mischief combined with something quite distinctly interested. "Oh?"

"Oh," he answered firmly, by way of response- and leaned forward to kiss his brother properly.

end chapter 3--


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: The plot! It begins to surface! -dies-

* * *

Take Anything- Chapter 4

* * *

Had someone had asked the boy, he'd have claimed that the decision came largely from one of the radio news reports he passed daily on the street. It was certainly the explanation he gave Al- that, one time too many, he'd caught word of the rising tide of chaos creeping nearer to the little safe haven they'd built, and it was simply time to move on. 

If his little brother noticed the inconsistency between that reason and the fact that they were going to Central, the very focal point for the insanity that had descended upon the world, he didn't say a word. Didn't protest that his health might not be good enough for the trip, or that the trains to the city had stopped running a month ago. And if Alphonse so much as suspected that their leaving coincided a bit too nicely with his brother's last trip to the doctor, he didn't point it out.

But then, Ed considered with the beginnings of a wry smile, the younger boy always had been tactful like that.

And so they packed what few belongings they had into two small suitcases- it was pathetic, Ed thought to himself as he closed the second, to realize that everything they owned between them fit easily, the rest long sold to get money for food or his little brother's pills- and bought a pair of train tickets as close to Central as the line still ran.

It was early morning when they boarded, dark and cold with the grey of pre-dawn, and he worried over the fact that Alphonse was shivering by the time they settled into their seats, breathing heavy but struggling not to show it. The younger boy stayed awake until the sun came up, and together they watched it peek above the distant horizon, grass and shrubs and trees turned to a blur of motion in the foreground.

And when Al insisted that they share the same seat, stretched out so that he could lay his head on the smaller boy's lap and smiled, soft and content, at the hand that reached to stroke through his hair, Ed could think only one thing: If only it could have been like this sooner. Better. _Differently._

Without the wave of sorrow that threatened to rise up and crush him every time he looked into those gentle bronze eyes.

* * *

They disembarked at a station some several days' journey from Central- not close enough, by Ed's estimation, not even as close as their tickets had claimed they could get, but the tracks further on had been dismantled in an attempt to keep the flow of people to the city under control. 

And so there was little they could do but comply, making their way into the unfamiliar town in search of a place to spend the night- because if his brother had to travel on foot for longer than he'd expected, Ed insisted fiercely, he was at very least going to get a decent night's rest before he did it.

The inn the boys picked was a cheap one, more a result of habit than need; Ed had long since gotten used to keeping a close watch on their funds, and though his arm had fetched enough to keep them fed and sheltered for now, the time that he'd spent unable to find work in a mistrustful world had left its mark.

They bought sandwiches for dinner, massive collections of meat and lettuce on long, seeded rolls; the smaller boy finished his in just under a minute, inhaling the meal in a series of mouthfuls that drew the stares of several of the small shop's other patrons. And when Alphonse gave up on his own halfway, protested that he'd explode and couldn't be persuaded to take even one bite more, Edward helped himself to the leftovers, privately glad at the gentle teasing his enthusiasm prompted.

Because that, after all, could only mean that his brother had never found out how often he'd been skipping meals to save money.

* * *

The journey the rest of the way to Central took the better part of a week. 

Even under normal conditions, it would have been difficult- but Alphonse was weak and in pain, and the older boy made him stop to rest every time his breathing became too erratic.

Which meant, of course, that their progress was almost nonexistent.

The nearer they got to the city, the more cluttered the roadway became, filled to overflowing with squatters camped out in scraps of fabric that resembled tents, with men and women that peered out at them with wild eyes, hopeful and wary and filled with the memories of war.

Once, they were accosted by a vulture of a man, middle-aged and with dark beard matted, walking slow and uneven along behind them. The sinners, he told them quietly, voice light with laughter, would be the last to go- all the good ones would die and get it over with, leave those that deserved to suffer alone to tear each other apart.

And when Ed faltered at the words, considered just for a moment that they hit perhaps a little too close to home, the reassurance came in a breathless, reedy whisper that he ought to know better. The madman heard Alphonse's words as well, though, raked the younger of the brothers over with too-bright eyes and laughed, declaring him one of the good ones.

By the time Ed had dropped both suitcases to whirl on him and begin bellowing about what, precisely, was going to be shoved up his ass if he didn't leave them the fuck alone, the man had already turned to go, shuffling away down the road with his peculiar crooked gait.

They didn't speak of it until later that night, lying curled up beside the road in grass that had grown brown with the passage of so many feet.

Shivering beneath his own coat and Ed's, Alphonse fixed his brother with a stare vulnerable with concern, reaching out to brush pale fingers along the side of the smaller boy's face. "Brother," he said quietly. "Don't."

And however his little brother had known, however understood that those words had kicked up great, dark clouds of guilt, the simple comfort was enough.

Edward slept not long after, dreams less burdened than usual.

* * *

He didn't recognize the city. 

Not the people that had spilled over into the streets, temporary shelters making a labyrinth of the roadways, not the skeletons of buildings, half-standing, wreathed with rings of rubble about the base, and most of all not the smell in the air, the thick, caustic stench of gunpowder and blood.

He'd taken all of two steps before he turned around, seized his brother by the wrist, and hauled him bodily away. Hunched against the remains of the nearest building, an old woman watched with interest, peering with shiny black eyes from a face swallowed by wrinkles.

"You're waiting here," Ed announced, sparing the woman a wary glance when she nodded in agreement, mumbling indistinct consent.

It was a moment before Alphonse could speak to protest, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "Brother," he managed at last. "Even if I stay, you'll need to come back and get me."

"True, true," came the quiet echo from their spectator, but Alphonse ignored it, pushing on: "And it's not as though it's any safer for us to be alone."

Ed's eyes mirrored the frustration that welled up inside him, sharp and bitter and overwhelming. "I'm not taking you into a war zone, Al- not without knowing what to expect." When the soft assent drifted to him from the place against the wall, he gritted his teeth and pretended not to hear.

There was a pause as Al took this in, nervous tongue peeking out to wet dry lips before he was continuing in the whispery rasp that had become his voice. "You can't just charge in anymore, brother. You have to be careful."

And as though to prove the point, somewhere in the tangled web that the streets had become an explosion rocked the air; both boys flinched with the force of it, the woman's gaze drifting in the direction of the sound with mild interest. Edward beat down the impulse to run toward it by will alone, Alphonse's reminder still fresh in his mind.

Can't help them anymore, he told himself fiercely, and tried to ignore the pang of loss, razor-sharp along his nerves. But a small part of him went further still, asked with quiet malice the question he'd been avoiding all along: what good could a boy with one arm and no alchemy do for anyone?

His thoughts were interrupted not by his brother, but by the scratchy voice of the ancient woman whose gleaming eyes remained fixed upon them still. "Fuhrer's got some sane parts now," she said conversationally, and nodded twice as though for emphasis. Ed wondered vaguely whether it was a nervous tic; she never seemed to stop. "Some parts that're sane."

Alphonse smiled cautiously at her and then at the smaller boy, expression marred by the pain that still shadowed the corners of his face. "See, brother? We can go someplace like that- it's not all a war zone."

"War's done," the woman seconded, nodding. "Here at least. Just a couple stragglers, but there still ain't nothing cleaned up." She flapped a hand vaguely at the world. "Buildings in the street."

"Something just blew up!" Ed snapped, ignoring the woman to fix his brother with a determined stare. "And I'm not taking you into a city that-"

"-we walked a week to get to," Alphonse finished, meeting his gaze with bronze eyes that were calm but firm.

The smaller boy scrubbed his hand across his eyes. "Fuck."

"Place where there's things standing," the woman continued, as though she'd never been interrupted. "That's where its part okay. But only part, mind." She nodded absently to herself for a few moments after she'd stopped speaking, heedless of the fact that she now had two pairs of eyes fixed on her.

"…thanks, grandma," Ed said at last, and forced a smile. It felt like a lie to him, but he held the expression in place regardless, trying to keep down despair that threatened to rise up and choke him. "Can you point us the right way?"

A single hand lifted, wrinkled old finger marking a direction in the chaos that Central had become.

They turned toward the place that lay before it and began to walk.

end chapter 4--


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: Thank you very, very much to everyone who's commented. -little hearts- It's very much appreciated!

* * *

Take Anything- Chapter 5

* * *

He should have expected it. 

Should have guessed by the state of the streets and the uncertain, guarded looks that they gathered from those crouched huddled among the wreckage that, even though the bulk of the fighting had ended, there was still plenty to be worried over.

But picking his way through the rubble that cluttered the ground was more difficult than simply walking along the path to Central had been, and most of Alphonse's attention was focused upon keeping his breathing even so that his brother wouldn't be inclined to stop every few minutes and make him rest. He would regret it, later- would think that, maybe if he'd paid a bit more heed to his surroundings, the situation could have been avoided entirely.

As it happened, however, the boy didn't even realize there was a problem until the voice reached his ears- and by then it was too late.

"Well, well," it drawled, and Al's eyes tracked instinctively toward the sound, searching out a form that leaned casually against the shattered remains of what once had been a building. "What do we have here?"

He felt the tension radiating off his brother before he turned to look, felt that thrumming, before-a-fight sense of wariness in the tone of his response. "Just a couple guys passing through."

There was a challenge in the words, Al realized as he glanced toward his brother's face- a challenge in the set of his shoulders and in the way his eyes were narrowed, openly suspicious. Dread settled out slowly into the younger boy's stomach at the sight of it, a part of his mind calling dimly for Ed not to make trouble when neither of them could defend themselves. But his brother's fist was clenched tight by his side, and his face was all blatant mistrust, and he was moving, by bare inches, to better put himself between the younger boy and the considerable bulk of the new arrival.

And then Alphonse heard the footsteps behind him and understood, with the words that followed, that what he'd mistaken for hostility in his brother's tone was nothing more complicated than the budding fear an animal feels when it realizes it's been cornered.

"A couple guys, huh? You sure about that?" A quick glance revealed that another man had followed them into the shattered remnants of the street, was taking up the easiest path back the way they'd come. "Pretty little thing like you…" The smirk that drifted in lazily to accompany the words sent a cold chill down Al's spine, and he glanced up just in time to see his brother's lips draw back from his teeth in a gesture not at all close to a smile.

"_Who's_ some helpless little girl?" Ed snarled in response - but before it could go further than that, the younger boy reached out a careful hand to still the outburst, shook his head once, urgently.

It might have worked, had his brother's temper been the worst of their problems.

But the figure crouched off to the side of them was rising into view from behind the twisted remains of what had once been a car, and two more were moving to flank the men that had already made their presences known. And it was too much of a coincidence, the way that any clean shot at escape had been neatly severed, much too _intentional_ to have been by accident.

The man they'd seen first was walking forward, then, coming up to stand uncomfortably close to his brother, and in the space before he began to speak, Al had time to think was that this was going to be very, very bad.

"I think you know that, sweetheart," the man smirked, lazy and amused. "But tell you what." One of those hands reached out toward Ed's face, and he saw the tension running through his brother's shoulders, felt the sickening twist of fear as the smaller boy shifted again to put himself the rest of the way between Alphonse and the source of the threat. "If you're real nice-"

The sentence never reached its end.

Just before the man's fingers came into contact with Edward's cheek, his brother's hand sealed around the thick wrist in a grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

And Al couldn't see the expression on the smaller boy's face, couldn't see the rage that must have been bubbling up to make those stunning golden eyes burn, but he could hear it in the response, low and dangerous. "Hands _off_, asshole."

"Oh, _I_ see," came the reply, on the heels of a grin that showed more teeth than strictly necessary. "Little cripple girl's trying to be brave. What- your boyfriend won't take care of you?"

There weren't even words this time- just a growl, guttural and warning.

Had it been Before, Al might have felt sorry for the man- might have cautioned him quietly that it would be a good idea to stand down before anyone got hurt. But things were different now- and his brother was diving in headfirst again, heedless of the fact that the only thing below him was jagged, unforgiving rock.

"That's just too bad," the man was saying, but Alphonse's eyes weren't on him- they were tracking back and forth between the other figures that boxed them in, moving steadily closer. "Pretty thing oughtta have a someone that can take care of her. Haven't you heard?" The grin grew a bit wider, a bit sharper. "It's dangerous around here."

"For you, maybe," Ed answered, voice low, "But then, you don't strike me as the kind of guy that knows when to worry." And the younger boy could hear the strain in his brother's tone, knew very well that beneath the fury there must be fear that this was a fight he couldn't win. "Or maybe I just didn't maybe myself clear enough: Go. _Fuck. _Yourself."

"Brother," Al whispered, urgently, just as the man reached out his other hand to run a considering fingertip along the smaller boy's jaw line.

"If you ask real nice, I might pretend you didn't say that," the man purred, and moved to grip the sides of Ed's chin with a hold that couldn't be anything less than painful. For a moment, the spike of alarm that rose up in response was so strong that Alphonse didn't realize why his brother wasn't pulling away- didn't think to look to the place where the wrist he'd been holding had twisted free, had closed over the boy's hand in a grip that all but swallowed it whole. "But I'll need something to prove you mean it." The grin twisted upward a bit further, a blatant leer. "Money works. Or if you don't have any…"

The world exploded into motion.

His brother jerked back at about the same moment that Alphonse moved forward, allowing him a stunning view of the smaller boy's fist connecting with a sickening crunch to the man's nose. He didn't have time to hesitate, though- didn't have time for anything but raising his own arms, one in front of the other, to block a blow that came in from the side.

And when he fell back under the force of the punch, shaking with the effort and already winded, he knew with a slow, sick understanding exactly how much chance they had of winning.

* * *

He woke to the sound of his brother's voice above him, insistent and sharp with alarm. 

And for the space of several seconds, he simply let the words wash over him, unable to make sense of them- because there was nothing more than a jumble of noise, a collection of ideas that wouldn't take form.

Pain rushed in with understanding, a deep, thick wave of it, and Al gasped a breath, coughed, struggled to open his eyes. Air didn't seem to want to come, though; his throat closed up midway; the cough turned wet and shuddering, lengthened into a fit that left him shaking on the stone of the ground.

"Al!" his brother was calling when it had passed, and he opened his eyes cautiously to peer up at the source.

And almost, he wished he hadn't. Because the first thought to enter his mind upon sight of his brother's face was that they must have kept beating the boy long after Alphonse had given up and passed out.

Because one of those lovely golden eyes had swollen shut, and his bottom lip was split wide open; the boy's left cheekbone was red and raw, some of the skin scraped away, and Al didn't even know what they could've done to cause that; his shirt, torn open in the search when Ed refused to tell them where the money was, revealed skin mottled dark with just-forming bruises.

And by the way that he was crouching, lips drawn back in a grimace that he couldn't seem to help, breath coming quick and shallow between his teeth, Edward was in no small amount of pain.

"Al," the boy was saying, voice soft and urgent, "Al- are you _okay_?"

He took a breath to reply, long and slow, just to make sure he could do it without bursting into a new fit of coughing. "I'm alright, brother," he said- and hesitated, alarmed by how weak the reply sounded. It was less than a whisper, really, nothing more than air with noise behind it. But he forced a smile anyway, tried to ignore the agony of desperation that sprung to the smaller boy's face at the sound of it. "You should worry more about yourself."

"Don't be a fucking moron," his brother scowled in response, and moved to stand, not quite forcing down the wince that the movement caused.

But he was offering his hand a moment later, anger washed from his expression by the warmth of concern.

* * *

When at last their slow progress was interrupted by a gate with armed guards, the fact that Ed couldn't manage a protest more violent than hoarsely shouted obscenities worried him more than he could say. 

And the soldiers wouldn't budge: beyond the blockade, they claimed, was a safe zone open only to military personnel or those with severe war wounds.

So they'd been turned away, the devastation on his brother's face a tangible presence when at last he realized that they truly wouldn't be able to pass- but Edward never had been very good at being told 'no', and so an hour later and close to three kilometers away from the gate, they stood staring up at the wall.

It had been built with alchemy; he could tell by the way it curved gradually into the stone below it and by the bits of rock and lose dirt that that dotted the structure, pulled up from below the street to join the surface material.

Had Alphonse still been a suit of armor, he could perhaps have lifted his brother high enough to allow the boy to grasp the top and pull himself up, or had Ed still been able to use alchemy, he might have simply made a hole straight through. But the world had moved on since then, had left the brothers injured and staring up at a monstrosity of rock and earth, rimmed with barbed wire and towering like a thing impassable.

"Well fuck," Ed said at last, lips tight with displeasure. His worry showed in the set of his shoulders and in the uncertain light that flickered through golden eyes, strong enough that Alphonse forced himself to relax a bit and offer a smile in reassurance.

He stood beside his brother as confidently as he was able, painfully aware of the hitching little whine his lungs gave every time he took too deep a breath in, stood staring upward and knowing what needed to be done- but not whether he would be able to do it.

"Give me a few minutes," he said at last, "And we can try then."

The boy was already lowering himself to the ground to lean against the earthy structure by the time he saw understanding flash in his brother's eyes, saw the alarm begin to surface, bright and vivid across Ed's expressive face.

"No," came reply, sharp with worry, just as the younger boy was settling into place. "No _way_, Al. If you think I'm gonna let you-"

"Brother," he said, and though the word was soft, Al's tone was enough to stop the tirade mid-sentence. "We have to." He hoped that there was a feeling of finality to the pronouncement, a sense of inevitability that not even Edward would argue with- because more than anything, he needed the time to catch his breath. Needed a chance to gather his strength and prepare for what was coming.

Ed was pressing on, though, shaking his head in a violent denial of the plan. "You can hardly walk, much less climb," the boy insisted, "And besides- what if there's someone watching on the other side?"

Al took a long, slow breath, ignoring that it caught on the way in. "Then that's a chance we'll have to take."

* * *

It burned. 

Somewhere deep in his chest, it felt as though there was a sharp, quick _pull_ every time he tried to get air, a flash of hurt that made him close his eyes against the sheer intensity of it. The boy was aware, vaguely, of his brother kneeling over him, of the just-this-side-of-panic in Ed's voice and the desperation building in golden eyes.

And Alphonse wanted to reassure him, wanted more than anything to reach out and run his fingers through that lovely hair, to kiss away the fear and tell him that everything was fine- but for some reason, all that would pass his lips when he opened them was a peculiar sound, high-pitched and reedy, keeping time with the short, shallow gasps hissing up from his throat.

And Ed's hand was on his face, then, touching his cheek as the boy leaned in closer, voice thick and distraught. There was something about love in there, and a promise that they would make it if he just held on a little bit longer, but the fingers on his cheek were warmer than they should have been, moist and a bit sticky, and the sensation was distracting him.

Realization came like a vague but unpleasant shock, filtering in as though through layers of cotton: Edward's hand was bleeding, scraped raw from the attempt to drag himself up and over the rough wall one-handed. It was the blood that was almost-hot against him, thick and fluid against his skin, sliding down in trails to catch in the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

Idiot brother, Al's mind mumbled distantly, and he struggled to take a deeper breath, intent upon insisting that the boy find something to serve as a bandage.

But there were peculiar blotches of grey pressing in at the sides of his vision, and they swarmed together in a violent rush, smudging out his brother's face from view. For a moment, only the voice remained- growing in pitch, breaking in places, and Alphonse wanted more than anything to tell smaller the boy not to cry.

But then the darkness rose up to take the rest of him, and the world went away.

end chapter 5--


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: Thanks again so, so much for folks who have commented. And I do, by the way, encourage any and all attempts at drawing scenes from my fics. Not that I'm responding to my reviews or anything. That would be against the rules. -looks pointedly away from PandaPants-

* * *

Take Anything- Chapter 6

* * *

It had taken him the better part of an hour to realize that carrying his brother was out of the question.

Edward had attempted it one-handed, ignoring the agony that screamed white-hot through his ribs as he'd held the unconscious boy close- had realized, within the first few seconds, that walking would be near impossible this way. The weight was too much, and the blood slicking his hand made the grip precarious.

He'd carried on as long as he could manage, though, arm wrapped around the younger boy's waist and cursing himself for being too small to make a full circle- because that way, at least, he wouldn't need to stop every few steps to get a better hold.

And when at last he'd had to rest, arm shaking with the strain, tiny black dots dancing in his vision from the pain that came with every step, every breath, the boy had tried another way.

Attempted a feat that would have been awkward two-handed, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he'd kneeled and tried to sling Alphonse over his shoulder.

That had lasted longer, not quite so awkward as the first attempt; but without the other hand to steady the unconscious form, his progress was soon staggering and lop-sided, and when his foot caught on a piece of rubble in the street, unnoticed until too late, the boy plummeted forward face-first.

The sharp half-cry that tore from his throat was unbidden, the sudden pain of impact making the world black out around him for the space of several seconds- but when consciousness returned, Ed's first thought was not of the searing, maddening burn that laced through ribs he had little doubt were broken. It was of his brother, pinned beneath him in the fall, and a moment later the boy was scrabbling to turn Al face up, golden eyes frantic and searching.

The breath was still there- unsteady and weak, with hitching little wheezes, but Alphonse was alive, and that was the important thing.

When he managed to stand at last, bending down to wrap an arm under his brother's armpit and haul him up, he didn't bother trying to lift him again. The world was unsteady beneath his feet, after all, and the effort had him trembling.

And even if it meant having to half-drag the boy, Ed wasn't going to drop him again- not when there was the off-chance that the fall could compound damage too profound already.

* * *

It was wasn't yet night when he slept, and Edward hated himself for that- hated that he couldn't ignore the ache that suffused his body, a screaming pain that wouldn't let him take a step without wishing that he could fall to his knees and rest.

But he could go on no longer; walking had been difficult enough with his own weight to support, and Alphonse's on top of it made every inch of progress a test of will, a battle to see whether he'd remain standing.

And so he moved the boy to the side of the road, was careful to work the unconscious form over the rubble of the building gently, half-lifting and half-dragging his little brother into the shattered remains of what once had been a house. Most of the side was missing now, and half the roof had caved in- but they were shielded from prying eyes, at least, and after their last run-in with remaining citizens of Central, Ed wasn't willing to take chances.

Not even if they hadn't seen another living soul since they'd clawed their awkward way over the wall some five hours before.

It was to this thought that Ed finally drifted off, his body positioned protectively between Al and the open side of the building, worry not enough to keep the exhaustion from overwhelming him.

When the boy dreamed, it was one he'd had many times before; he could taste the smoke, thick and acrid, in the back of his throat, hear the sound as it drifted up from the floor, unsettling and so very far from natural that it set his mind on edge.

By degrees, the thickness in the air began to part- revealed pulsing mounds of flesh and twisted lumps of something that might have once been human.

There was something different in the angle of the pale limbs this time, though; something strange in the shape of a face that should have been one he recognized. The jaw was stronger, just a little, and the hair hanging down below demon's eyes that glowed bright and hot and hateful shorter than it ought have been.

And there were words amidst the growls that escaped it, wet and guttural, words that reached inside to tear at a part of him left open and vulnerable.

"Brother," said the thing on the floor of their house, the remains of what should have been their mother. "You ruined me."

The boy woke screaming, heart racing and mind struggling desperately to twist away from the image- but when at last the initial shock of horror had subsided, the first thing that met his eyes was Alphonse's still form, pale and fragile in the dusky light that filtered in through the remains of the roof.

It was, Ed thought in those last few seconds before the dream-terror had gone completely, nearly as bad.

* * *

It was the following day that he finally began to appreciate the sheer scope of Central.

Always before, it had been impressive; even during the time that he'd needed to report between missions and the city had become a familiar presence in his life, Ed had continually been amazed at the fact that, no matter how often he returned, there was always something he'd yet to see.

Now that every step had become a challenge, something to be fought for against the screaming protest of his own body, it was a size that seemed daunting. And finding one building in the war-torn cityscape was a fool's errand- a fleeting gasp of hope that Ed felt slipping away.

Because Central had so changed that the boy wasn't certain he would recognize the way to the hospital if he found it.

* * *

Alphonse woke shortly after noon, stirred weakly against Ed's shoulder, coughing, and the sound surprised him so much that he very nearly dropped the boy.

It was a matter of moments before he'd moved his brother to the side of the street, was easing him gently down and watching with a mixture of anxiety and relief as bronze eyes flickered open to focus uncertainly on his face.

"…brother?"

And Ed had never known, before that moment, the joy that could come at hearing a single word. Hadn't really understood, until then, exactly how terrified he'd been that he would never hear Al's voice again- not telling him fondly what an idiot he was, or asking whether he'd finished that new book, or whispering quiet words of love, soft and healing against his skin.

"Don't ever fucking scare me like that again," Ed demanded, fierceness and worry threading their way into the tone in equal parts.

And the boy smiled, an expression achingly beautiful, gentle and pained and patient all at once. "Sorry, brother," came the response, barely loud enough to be a whisper. "No promises."

* * *

Al could walk on his own.

The older boy made him rest every ten minutes or so, of course- as soon as his breathing became labored- but compared to the to painfully slow progress they'd been making before, the pace they settled upon was actually an improvement.

They didn't talk much as they picked their careful way through the remnants of other people's lives- the faded print of a three-month-old newspaper; the sharp, delicate edges of a shattered glass vase; a discarded banana peel, just beginning to ripen to a slick, oily brown. Edward's thoughts were too caught up in the space between hope and dread to put much effort into a conversation, after all, and he could only imagine what must be running through Al's mind.

After hours spent alone with the excruciating knowledge that what he was carrying might soon become his brother's corpse, however, the new variety of silence was a welcome change- companionable, almost. And when the boy tried hard enough, paid attention only to the sounds of his own heartbeat and the comforting presence beside him, he could imagine just for a little while that things were like they'd been before, in that strange and distant time when they'd walked the streets of a city lit up with the existence of ordinary people.

It was hard not to miss.

* * *

It changed slowly, in bits and pieces- small things that built up to the indication that perhaps they were headed the right way, after all.

There were the blackened remains of a fire off to one side of the street, perhaps not so different than the other scorch marks but for the small rocks arranged around it to prevent it from spreading. A collapsed building that had flooded the street with debris had been partially cleared away, leaving a pathway in the center. A child's hand had left a drawing on a still-standing portion of wall, black stick-figures, and a small pile of charred wood had been collected nearby, evidently the artist's utensil of choice.

And then they reached the place that the old woman must have been speaking about, and Ed stared, blinking, at the street before him. The difference was so profound that it felt as though he was stepping into another world.

Because behind him was the evidence of war- of carnage and pain, lives lost and hopes killed- but before him, emerging gradually from the wreckage, was Central. Colors muted with the ash of the fires that must have raged, but Central all the same.

Two rows of houses stood facing each other, so like the city he'd known that the boy had to fight down an expectation that people would come down the steps at any moment now, intent upon going to the bakery, or visiting a friend, or walking a dog.

Beside him, Al made a soft noise of surprise, and the smaller boy reached for him automatically, feeling for his brother's arm as though to prove it wasn't a dream.

"Al," he began- but the younger boy was already nodding, eyes bright with joy.

"Brother," came the soft response, in the hoarse little whisper that had become Alphonse's voice. "This must be the place."

And with the crashing force of realization, Ed knew what he meant- recalled reports from the days when word of the war had been constrained to a distant, tinny voice on a radio: parts of Central evacuated; huge losses suffered; a supposed retreat; hard-won victory, gained in the city's streets.

To stand here, in this place that had been saved with the blood of men and women he knew- respected- liked, even- brought to the surface a mix of emotions that were unsettling and powerful.

"Yeah," the boy managed, after a long moment. He smiled despite himself, and the expression was as shaky as his voice. "I guess it is."

end chapter 6--


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